


I Scream, You Scream

by RobinsonsWereHere



Series: Shots in the Dark [1]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Episode: s04e09 Shawn Takes a Shot In the Dark, F/M, Jules and Lassie are Best Friends, Jules is Not Okay, Jules is a Badass, Juliet saves the day, Kidnapping, Not Dealing With Emotions, Shooting, So much angst, nobody is okay, pretty Jules-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark", except...Juliet looks closer at the ice cream truck. Gus answers his texts earlier. Lassie gets kidnapped. Shawn still takes a shot in the dark.Alternately titled, "Juliet O'Hara and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"





	1. Juliet Looks Closer

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is unabashedly Jules-centric, because I love her. So naturally, I'm going to hurt the two people she cares about the most, because we all love pain. >:D if you clicked on this without reading the tags and don't want lots and lots of angst, I suggest you find a different fic to read. Enjoy!

“This is ridiculous,” groaned Lassiter, pacing a small path through the crime scene. Juliet was pretty sure that he was minutes away from getting in his car and driving off entirely. Behind them, Shawn and Gus were still posing with firefighters and joking about ice cream. Well, if none of them were going to be useful, she’d find some kind of evidence herself. The thing was, she had no idea what the heck she was looking for.

_Think, O’Hara,_ she told herself. _This accident has to have been caused by something, but it didn’t crash into anything else, and the driver was nowhere near drunk._ She scanned the area, checking everything but looking for nothing in particular. _What’s wrong with this picture?_ Finally, as she took a few steps toward the overturned truck, she spotted something. “Carlton,” she called, “Does this look like a weld to you?”

The grumpy detective wandered over to the truck. “Yeah,” he responded, reaching out to touch the weld, before remembering that he was at a crime scene. “Weird spot, though.”

“That’s what I thought,” Juliet said. “I can’t really see any part of it that would be at all beneficial to the truck.”

“Maybe it was a repair?” Lassiter wondered aloud.

As if summoned by the chance to prove Lassie wrong, Shawn came bounding over. “Oh!” He cried out, placing a hand to his head. “Oh, all of those poor, murdered, ice creams are trying to tell me something! I can’t hear- it’s like they’re melting-“ he cut off mid-sentence as his ‘vision’ threw him against the truck. The welded rectangle shattered into charred pieces of brittle metal. It was obviously low quality, and definitely not the type used to repair or reinforce. 

Juliet frowned. “Probably not a repair,” she decided.

////////////////////////////////

Shawn sighed in frustration as he flopped into his desk chair. He’d had a fairly unsuccessful visit to the auto shop. Halfway through his explanation of his modified wiener-mobile, Jules and Lassie had shown up. For a case that neither party seemed particularly interested in, the detectives were really on a roll, which was great and all, but starting to seriously impinge on Shawn’s need to be one step ahead at all times. Oh well, he could do some more research from the Psych office, at least. If he got two steps ahead, then he would have enough material for a helpful vision, and maybe the chief would officially put him and Gus on the case.

/////////////////////////////////

Lassiter groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. Nine hours, too much fruitless searching, and four containers of take-out later, he and O’Hara were still no further than they had been after visiting the body shop. Not that Spencer had helped any; whatever he’d been saying to Mr. Longmoore before the detectives had arrived had made the man skeptical of any further questions. Whether that was because he had something to hide or because he was simply disinclined to trust anyone who would willingly acquaint themselves with Shawn Spencer, well, that was anyone’s guess. O’Hara returns with two mugs of coffee, and he takes his before returning his gaze to the still woefully empty case file. “We’re getting nowhere,” he growls. “Everyone else left the station hours ago. Is the stupid ice cream truck really worth it?”

She gives him a Look, and as she opens her mouth to speak, he cuts her off. “If you point out one more time that ‘to protect and to serve’ applies to even cases I don’t like I will leave you here with this pathetic file and you can solve this thing yourself.”

The Look has become a full-on glare now, and Lassiter winces, about to apologize, but he doesn’t get the chance. “Hang on,” O’Hara says, the tone of her voice calm. Her expression has shifted suddenly, giving him the feeling that any further argument is going to be foregone in favor of following a lead. “What if we’re going about this totally wrong? What if it’s not about the ice cream truck at all?”

“What else would it be?”

She grabs a flier from the folder in front of him, the one from the auto shop. “Look at this. ‘We service cars, work vehicles, _armored trucks_. If this shop really is the most likely candidate for the weld on the ice cream truck, it could be that an employee working there is aiming to disrupt something… big. I don’t know, what are armored trucks used for?” 

“Banks, I think. I vaguely remember the SBPD using one for transporting firearms at one point, but it seems more likely that a casual criminal would plan to rob a bank.”

His partner is nodding excitedly. “Right, we might be onto something! But… if this person is after money, why attack the ice cream truck?”

Just like that, they’re working together again, forging onward to solve the crime.

///////////////////////

Despite his earlier confidence, Shawn has yet to get “two steps ahead” of the police. In fact, he’s not even one step ahead. It’s late, though, so late that Gus had kicked him out of the Psych office and now he’s in his apartment, sitting in a not-quite-upright position, computer balanced on his legs. But the thing is, the information on the screen is boring, and it’s past ten at night, and his bed is really comfortable….

///////////////////////

It is ridiculously late. It’s not that Juliet hasn’t stayed up this late before, and it’s not that they’ve never worked a case with long hours, but it’s past midnight and the concept of a crashed ice cream truck being connected to a possible bank robbery, for which they have no evidence, is starting to seem surreal. Juliet thinks that they’re almost there, she thinks that one more cup of coffee will wake her up enough to make the connection, and she decides that she’ll get that cup of coffee, yeah, right after she rests her eyes, just a little bit.

A few desks down, Lassiter snores softly.

//////////////////////

Shawn wakes blearily from a dream involving flashes of the crash scene and Juliet and the auto shop and Abigail and teasing Lassie, frowning at the clock. He didn’t mean to sleep for that long, it’s about three in the morning now. What about that dream had made him remember it? He shakes away thoughts of blonde hair and blue eyes, trying to focus on the case. He often dreamed about a clue he’d picked up on subconsciously, so it wouldn’t surprise him if reviewing the dream gave him an idea…

A quick browse of the website later, Shawn had it. “Doesn’t make sense to break into an ice cream truck, no, but that’s the same shape, good practice,” he muttered to himself, shoving on his shoes as he shot off a quick message to Gus. “I’m two steps ahead,” he whispered as he stepped out the door.

 

////////////////////

“Hmmm,” said Lassiter, glancing at a customer map of the auto shop as he sipped his coffee.  
Juliet looked up at him, hands wrapped around her own. “What?”  
“So, we have no proof that anybody is planning anything illegal at the place,” her partner mused.  
“Right.”  
“We’d need probable cause if we wanted a search warrant,”  
“Uh huh.” Juliet was not entirely sure where he was going with this.  
“ _but_ if we were to, say, enter a place that is accessible to the public at all hours and just happen to find something there, well, then we’d have more to go on,” he continued.  
“What could possibly be open at-“ Juliet checked her watch- “three-thirty AM?”

“Public entry to the car area, right here,” Lassiter replied, indicating a gate on the map.

“That’s gotta be locked at night,” she scoffed.

“Well,” Lassiter began hesitantly. “I happened to notice that they haven’t replaced the gate since the manager’s son drove through it showing off to his boyfriend…”  
“If the chief were here, she’d never allow it.”  
“No better reason to go now,” countered Lassiter. “Besides, we’re more likely to find crime at night.”  
Later, they would both wish that statement had been a little less true.

 

///////////////////

 

Shawn grinned as he hopped off his bike, jogging toward the van at the edge of a parking lot. Yeah, it was dark, but he had his phone, and there was a streetlight near the car he was headed for. He’d be fine. If he had thought that someone else might be there at that time of night, he might have parked further away, or at least walked with a little more caution, but he hadn’t thought of that. Of course, as he noticed the light coming from _under_ the truck, he began to suspect. Forming an ignorant cover story in his brain, the psychic continued towards the van. The guy underneath noticed him sooner than he would have liked, but Shawn still remained calm, spouting off some nonsense about needing directions. Of course he could talk his way out of this, he could talk his way out of anything. The guy was really agitated, but that was fine, oh okay, he had a gun. Not fine. Shawn slowly lifted his hands, speaking calmly. “Look, dude, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he half-laughed, trying to back away, hoping Gus had received his text, wishing that the Blueberry would arrive, yeah, he could really use some help.

“You can’t be here,” the man breathes raggedly, his hand jittering over the trigger. “You can’t be here, you weren’t supposed to see this-“

His ramblings are cut off by the arrival of another car, and then fast footsteps in the gravel, and then twin yells of “SBPD!” and “Drop your weapon!” 

Shawn has just enough time to feel relieved before the bullet slams into his chest.


	2. Everything Goes Wrong At Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a writing MACHINE today! I'm very excited for this fic. Thanks again to myglassesaredirty for letting me bounce ideas off of you!

Juliet saw the two men standing across the lot, one pointing a gun and the other one so clearly Shawn Spencer, and her mind went into overdrive. She pulled her own weapon from its holster and heard Lassiter do the same behind her. “SBPD!” She yelled.

“Drop your weapon!” Roared her partner. The man looked at them as Juliet shouted, and then, almost before Lassiter had even finished his sentence, pulled the trigger. As the shooter took off at a run, so did the detectives. 

There is a point at which partnered cops know each other so instinctively that they don’t even have to look at each other before they act. They’re both on the same page and they follow the same rules. This kind of connection can save lives. Without a word, Juliet beelined for Shawn, now lying on the ground motionless, and Lassiter shot off in pursuit of the man with the gun. Psychic abilities be damned, four and a half years of partnership was enough to give them a practically telepathic bond.

Juliet presses one hand firmly to the wound while the other flits up Shawn’s neck for a pulse. He is currently unconscious, he has to be just unconscious, she knows for a _fact_ that dead bodies don’t bleed this much. He must’ve blacked out from hitting his head on the way down. Satisfied that there is a pulse, if a rather unsteady one, she tries to examine the wound a bit. From the bleeding and the location, she thinks he has maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe. “Shawn, wake up!” She says loudly, trying to gauge of chest compressions would help or hinder the problem. They’re probably unnecessary as long as she can feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers…

Juliet loses her train of thought as Shawn jerks underneath her, then groans. “Wow, Jules, you just couldn’t… keep your hands off… my perfectly sculpted chest… huh?” Shawn pants, his breath coming in gasps.

“You wish,” she retorts weakly, wishing her voice wouldn’t shake. He gives her half a grin, which then dissolves into confusion. “Jules, I think I got shot,” he mumbles. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Shawn,” says Juliet, looking around for her partner because _what’s taking him so long either he caught the guy or he didn’t I can’t call an ambulance and hold pressure at the same time_   
“Yeah, okay,” he pants, then lays back, eyes closed.  
“Shawn, look at me! Eyes open!” Juliet demands, failing to care that the fear spreading through her limbs is clearly evident in her words.

“But Jules, I’m cold, I wanna sleep,” Shawn mutters, opening his eyes, nonetheless.  
The first thing that comes to mind is _you can sleep when you’re dead_ and she hates herself for it. “You can sleep later, Shawn, right now, I need you to stay awake,” she begs.  
“I’m cold, Shawn repeats, frowning. “I’m really cold…”  
“You’re going into shock, but that’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Juliet tries.  
He looks at her, foggy confusion gone from his eyes. “Jules, I think I’m dying.”  
“No, Shawn, you’re not,” she tells him.  
“Jules,” he continues, “I need you to know…”  
She doesn’t like the sound of that one bit. ”Shawn, don’t say anything you’ll regret.”  
“I’ll regret it more if I don’t say it and then I die,” he counters.  
“You have a girlfriend, remember? Abigail?”  
“Yeah…” He sighs. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her.”  
“Tell her yourself,” she snaps. She’s mad now. Why is she mad?  
“Jules…”  
“Shawn, you’re delirious, you’re in shock-“ Her words are cut off by the arrival of another car, Gus’ Echo, thank god. Shawn seizes the opportunity.  
“Juliet. I love you,” He tells her.  
“Shawn-“ She chokes, deciding to direct her attention elsewhere for a moment. “Gus, call an ambulance!”  
Gus pulls his phone out and dials, running towards them. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Juliet says, her own breathing nearly as unsteady as Shawn’s. “I don’t know, Shawn got shot, Carlton went after the suspect but now I don’t know where he is, when’s the ambulance getting here?!?” She’s panicking. _don’t panic,_ she tells herself. _you’re a cop, you can do this._

“Three minutes,” Gus tells her. “Does he have that long?”

“I think he does,” Juliet replies. _he has to._

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood,” 

“For one thing, yes I am sure, I didn’t go to the police academy to learn how to do paperwork,” Juliet retorts. “For another, if you’re going to faint, please sit down first so you don’t hurt yourself. I can only save one life at a time.” Gus doesn’t sit down.

“Gus, buddy,” Shawn says, smiling weakly. “There you are, you missed my super romantic confession of love!”

“Shawn, regardless of how you and Juliet feel about each other, I am certain that she does not want to hear it while she’s busy saving your life,” Gus chides, one hand reaching for Shawn while the other grips his cell, the 911 dispatcher on speakerphone.

Shawn makes a noncommittal noise. “Specifics are unimportant,” he rasps. 

Juliet looks up suddenly. “I hear sirens.” Gus sighs in relief.

“Gus, I need you to tell my dad I love him, okay?” Shawn says urgently. “But like, not until you’re sure I’m dead, ‘cause if you tell him and I live then I’ll have to talk about feelings with him. He hates feelings.”

“Shawn, I have no desire to get any deeper into your family drama than I already am,” Gus says. “You can tell him. You’re going to be okay.”

Shawn looks from Gus to Juliet, staring for a long time at each of them, as if he’s trying to memorize their faces. “Just keep saying that,” he murmurs, and then his eyes fall closed.

“Shawn!” They both yell at the same time.  
“Shawn, wake up,” pleads Gus.  
“Eyes on me, Shawn!” Juliet demands.

An ambulance comes cruising into the lot. EMTs take Juliet’s place at Shawn’s chest, and before she even knows what’s happening, he’s on a gurney and being loaded into the ambulance. Juliet longs to go with him, but she can’t. She needs to figure out where the hell her partner went, and why he’s not back yet. “Gus, keep me updated!” She calls, then turns and strides toward the woods at the edge of the parking lot, dialing her partner’s number.

 

//////////////////////////

“Stop in the name of the law! You’re under arrest!” Lassiter called as he ran after the perp, who by this time he’d clearly identified as Garth Longmoore. Longmoore had zigged and zagged impressively through the forest, but now he was approaching the road and there wouldn’t be any more roots for Lassiter to trip over. He was closing in, he’d almost got him- wait, where had that car come from? There was another man now, climbing out of the driver’s seat and approaching him, even as Longmoore slumped against the vehicle, exhausted. Lassiter reached for his badge and cuffs, ready to arrest both of them, but then the driver swung a heavy crowbar at his skull, and the world disappeared.

////////////////////////

Juliet finally emerges on the side of a road, after a good ten minutes spent hiking through the woods. She shoved her phone back in her pocket around minute seven, after Carlton had failed to answer six of her calls. She had tried telling herself that the feeling of dread trickling down her spine was just paranoia, that she was just jumpy after what happened with Shawn. However, now she’s come through a whole god damned forest and there is still no sign of her partner. As she steps onto the road, looking both ways for cars or people, she doesn’t quite know, she kicks something. At the scrape of metal on asphalt, the detective looks down, frowning at the pistol that lays abandoned at her feet. Further inspection of the gun shows it’s definitely SBPD issue, and looking at the dirt she sees scuff marks and… was that blood? Shit. Juliet’s hands shake as she turns the gun in over, lips moving silently as she read the numbers along the barrel. It’s Lassiter’s badge number… and if there’s one thing she knows about her partner, it’s that he never willingly leaves his gun anywhere.

_shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, I cried while writing this.


	3. Five AM Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen, Abigail, and Henry are brought up to speed. Juliet starts on a warpath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unrelated to the story, but I just watched "You Can't Handle This Episode" and they were right, I couldn't handle it. If anyone wants to discuss O'Hara Family Feels, absolutely hit me up at shules-is-endgame on Tumblr.

  
Never once, at any point in her entire career, has a call before six in the morning meant anything good. It’s no wonder that, when her phone rings at four forty-five, Karen is already groaning as she looks at the caller ID. **Det. O’Hara** , the screen reads. “Vick,” she answers.  
  
“Chief,” begins O’Hara, and Karen knows something is very wrong because her voice is flat and void of emotion. Not calm and professional, as it often is, or even tired, which, quite frankly, would be expected at this time of night, but flat. “There’s been a major development in the ice cream truck case,” the younger woman continues. “Well, two major developments.”  
  
“How major are we talking, Detective?” Karen asks, wary.  
  
“Shawn Spencer has been shot,” O’Hara says, and Karen winces. “He lost a lot of blood, but about fifteen minutes ago he was loaded into an ambulance. Gus is with him.” Karen really does not want to make that phone call to Henry Spencer. She can already tell her day is not going to be fun.  
  
“And the other major development?”  
  
“It appears Detective Lassiter has been kidnapped,” says O’Hara. The chief can hear her shaky inhale even over the phone.  
  
“ _appears?_ ”  
  
“There are signs of a scuffle along the edge of Cliff Drive near the Auto Body Shop we were investigating yesterday,” comes the answer. “Also, I found his gun in the same location.” Karen knows all of her officers well, better than they think she does, even. She knows for certain that Carlton Lassiter would never willingly leave his weapon.  
  
Biting back an unprofessional sigh, Karen leaves the warmth of her bed and moves toward her closet. “We’ll discuss this further at the station, Detective,” she instructs. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”  
  
“I’ll probably need forty-five,” O’Hara responds.  
  
“Noted.”  
//////////////////////  
Juliet is halfway back to the parking lot when she finishes with the chief. As she hangs up the phone, she is once again in the middle of the forest with no company but her own thoughts. _you should’ve gone with him. You should’ve had his back. It’s not like you helped Shawn much anyway. He’s probably dead by now. They’re both probably dead by now._  
  
Her thoughts aren’t very good company.  
  
Finally, Juliet makes it back to the parking lot. While the ambulance is long gone by now, the large puddle of blood soaking the asphalt is not. She looks around, alert for any more shooters or kidnappers, but she’s the only one here at this time of night. As she approaches Lassiter’s Crown Vic, she suddenly realizes that she does not have the keys. The same holds true for Gus’ Echo and Shawn’s bike. Great.  
  
Gus picks up on the third ring. “Is he alive?” She asks.  
“Yeah,” Gus tells her. “They took him into surgery maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

Juliet sighs in relief. “Do you want to call Mr. Spencer or should the chief do it?”

“I think the chief,” Gus replies. “I’m gonna call Abigail soon.”

Juliet remembers the last thing Shawn had said to her and thinking about Abigail Lytar feels even worse than it usually does. She swallows. “Hey, in terms of you having to pay for what happens to your company car, what would be worse? If it got hotwired or if it got left in a disreputable parking lot for an undetermined amount of time?”

“Um, hotwiring? Why? Who’s going to hotwire my car?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take Carlton’s,” she assures him, and hangs up.

//////////////////////////

Abigail somehow managed to get the ringing phone next to her ear without opening her eyes. “Hello?”

“Abigail, it’s Gus,” says Burton Guster.

“Gus, do you know what time it is?” She asks blearily.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to wake you, but, uh, I, I thought you’d want to know…” Gus trails off.

Abigail is more awake now, and the tone of Gus’ voice worries her. “Gus, what’s wrong?”

“Shawn-“ on the other end of the line, Gus chokes, but the one word itself is enough to send a bolt of fear through her. “Shawn got shot, while investigating a case.”

“Oh my god,” says Abigail, sitting up. “Where? How bad is it?”

“Um, it’s pretty bad… I think… I think the bullet hit him close to the heart.”

“Oh my god,” Abigail repeats. The room is swirling around her, the shadows of five in the morning mixing with the light from the streetlamp outside her window until she’s not really sure which way is up. She feels sick.

“Are you okay?” Gus asks. “Do you want me to come get you and drive you to the hospital?”

“No,” She manages. “I’ll be there soon.”

////////////////////////

Henry Spencer did not know that his son had been shot. He did not know that a detective had been kidnapped. He did not know anything of the events of the past hour in Santa Barbara, and he was certainly not expecting a phone call from Karen Vick. After all, if was five o’clock in the god damned morning.

“Somebody better be dying,” he snapped.

“You don’t mean that,” Karen informed him.

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet? There are very few things that would actually make it worth waking up at five am, and I’m guessing you’re not about to invite me on a fishing trip.”

“Your son is in the hospital,” Karen says, and Henry’s heart skips a beat.

“What?” He asks, his voice shaking.

“According to Detective O’Hara, he took a bullet of an unknown caliber to the chest, which may have severed the pulmonary artery,” she continues.

“When? That can bleed out in minutes!”

“Mr. Guster has informed me that he’s in surgery now,” Karen says, placating.

“Okay, I don’t know what the hell happened for my son to get shot before the damn sun is even up, but I’m going to the hospital. Tell O’Hara and Lassiter to catch the son of a bitch,” Henry instructs.

“That is her job,” Karen deadpans. Henry hangs up, mind too preoccupied to notice her wording. His son needs him, so he needs to be there.

//////////////////////

By the time Juliet finishes relaying the events of the night to the chief, her fingers are itching to reach for her gun, to take it apart and fit it back together, over and over, because that’s something she can control and if she could just get a little faster at it, a little faster in general, then maybe she’d actually have a chance of saving people she cared about. Instead, she takes a deep breath and heads for the coffee machine. A few sips of the dark liquid are enough to clear her head, and she sighs deeply, the adrenaline rush starting to wear off at last. _where to start?_ she asks herself. _what do you_ know?

“Garth Longmoore,” She mutters, heading for her computer. Her lips twist into an almost sadistic smirk as she imagines what it’ll feel like to snap a pair of cuffs on his wrists. Sliding into her chair, she wakes up the desktop and puts his name into the system. “I’m coming for you, you bastard,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos or a comment if you liked! Tell me your thoughts on the story, how I did at characterization, scream at me for hurting your favs. I love it all <3


	4. She'll Solve This Thing Herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus tries to help. Juliet scares people. Lassie wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt to write. You have been warned.

Despite trying for a solid fifteen minutes now, Gus has still been unable to telepathically will information out of the nurses’ station by staring at it. He looks around the waiting room, which is nearly empty at five-thirty in the morning. In the back corner, a girl shivers and checks her phone every few minutes. A Latino man across from Gus has been praying in multiple languages, on and off. It’s a harsh and dreary place, the ER. Gus is glad that he’s not here alone, at least.

Looking to his left, he sees Mr. Spencer take a gulp of coffee and continue looking through a newspaper from a month ago. Even if he couldn’t see the date, Gus would know when it was from because on the front page are Lassiter and Juliet, arresting a drug lord Shawn and Gus had helped them track down. He remembers seeing the article when it had made the news; they’d gotten his name wrong again. Barton Gundy. Gus shakes his head at the memory.

On his right, Abigail is curled in a position that does not look like it would be comfortable to anyone with a human skeletal system. He hadn’t spoken to her much after she’d gotten there; he’d hugged her and offered empty reassurances and then pretended that he didn’t notice the tears she shed as she sat next to him. Now, having elected not to choke down any of the low-quality coffee offered, she’s sleeping, or at least, her eyes are closed and her breathing steady. Gus sighs.

“I can’t do anything from here,” he says to Mr. Spencer.

“Well, you’re not exactly a cop, either,” he points out.

“I know that,” Gus sighs. “But I physically can’t sit here and do nothing. I’ll go insane,” he complains. “I’m at least going to go down to the station and find Juliet. I haven’t heard anything about Lassiter, and even if I don’t have any useful skills to bring to the table, I can be emotional support.”

“You’re very useful, kid,” responds Henry, turning back to his newspaper. Gus takes this as a sign of dismissal and stands, pulling on his jacket. 

//////////////////////////

It had been easier than Gus had expected to convince Chief Vick to let him help out on the case. They’d gone through the obligatory I’m-sorry-your-friend-got-shot conversation and she’d even assured him that he and Shawn would get paid for their trouble. Now he was winding through the near-empty station, making his way toward the bullpen area. As he passed over the logo on the floor, Gus spotted Juliet. She was glaring at her computer and no longer wearing the black jacket she’d had on at the auto shop. Gus winces at the red that still stains her sleeves. Blood may smell worse fresh, but dried it looks absolutely horrible.

/////////////////////////

Juliet indicates her displeasure with the lack of information on Longmoore by utilizing all of the words she’s learner over the years from her brothers and Lassiter (though really, he pretty much fits in the first category). Her computer is unfazed, but the few night shift cops wandering the station do take a few steps back. Frustrated, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and somehow manages to pull at least three bobby pins out of her bun in the process. Well then. As she’s attempting to wrangle her hair into a ponytail, she hears a familiar voice call her name.

“Gus,” she says, a little louder than she meant to. “How’s Shawn?”

“In surgery,” he responds. “The nurses won’t tell us anything, so…”

“That’s never good,” Juliet mutters under her breath. Refusing to dwell on worry, she turns back to Gus. “Are you here to help with the case, or?” 

“Yeah, I thought I could at least try to be helpful. I’d rather not spend an undetermined amount of time sitting in the waiting room,” Gus explains.

Juliet understands not wanting to be alone with your thoughts. After all, that’s a lot of the reason she’s been working non-stop since her meeting with the chief. “Alright, well, ‘Garth Longmoore’ has been dead for several decades, so our perp was clearly using an alias. Our next step is to go back to the shop and check their records for personal information, but it doesn’t open for another half hour, and I need more coffee.” She frowns disapprovingly at her empty mug. In less than three minutes, she has walked to the break room, emptied the coffee pot into her mug, and come back to her desk, where she promptly gulps the entire thing.

Gus looks mildly concerned. “How much coffee have you had?”

“Not so much that my hands will shake when I put a bullet in this son of a bitch,” Juliet responds, her tone colder than she’d intended. Gus blinks. “We should get going,” she continues abruptly. “It’s a bit of a drive to get there.” 

“We’re taking your car. I don’t trust you around mine.”

////////////////////////

Lassiter wakes slowly, brain fuzzy and eyes unadjusted to the dark. He’s not quite sure where he is, or why he was asleep. Had he been asleep this whole time? Had Spencer getting shot been a dream? He hopes so. As annoying as Spencer is, the head detective doesn’t want him _dead_. He’ll never admit it, but Spencer is useful for solving tricky cases, and he’s probably a good person. Probably. Plus, Carlton doesn’t even want to think about what Spencer’s death would do to O’Hara.

With his awkward position and the vague sense of movement, Lassiter is beginning to suspect that he hasn’t just drifted off at his desk. He attempts to roll over and immediately notices two things: one, his head hits the ceiling, which hurts so much that he feels like he’s going to be sick for a solid minute, and two, his hands are cuffed behind his back. Fuck. Although it hurts to think, he remembers chasing after Longmoore, and then his friend showing up and knocking him over the head. So, with the motion beneath him and the low ceiling, Lassiter can only assume he’s in the back of a car. After wriggling around for a bit and hitting his head no less than three times (If he didn’t have a concussion already, he does now) the detective manages to kick out a tail light. From his awkward, bent position with his leg sticking out of the car, he can see exactly zilch. And even if he could, he can’t get to his phone to call anyone. Lassiter groans as the rapidly passing blur of road adds to his general dizziness. If he just closes his eyes for another few minutes, the nausea will go away, and then he can escape.

///////////////////////

Juliet storms into the garage, Gus on her heels. They get a few looks of confusion and wariness from most of the workers, until one brave soul steps to block her path. “Ma’am, you can’t be in here,” he starts.

She’s pulled out her badge before he finishes his sentence. “Juliet O’Hara, SBPD,” she says. “I’d like to speak to your manager.” The mechanic nods quickly and leads them toward an office without further questions. 

The manager, Irfan, is more than willing to help. Unfortunately, he can’t give them much. He’s got a phone number for contacting purposes and a P.O. box for paychecks, but other than that, all he knows is that Garth Longmoore gave his notice a day previous. “That must have been _right_ after we talked to him,” Juliet says with a frustrated sigh.

“What about the phone?” Asks Gus.

“I don’t know. Potentially, yes, but it could be a burner. I’ll try it when we get back to the station; if it’s legitimate, we can track it.”

On the way back, they don’t talk at first. Juliet notices Gus muttering under his breath. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, more to distract herself than out of any real curiosity.

“I’m trying not to think,” he replies. “I’m reciting all the drug families I learned in pharmaceutical school. It helps me focus on something else. You should try it,” he suggests.

“I had to memorize kidnapping statistics and how long gunshot wounds to different areas take to bleed out,” she responds flatly.

“Oh,” says Gus, in a small voice.

////////////////////////

Lassiter wakes as he’s being roughly yanked from the trunk of the car. The daylight hurts his eyes and the sudden movements make his head pound. Someone’s hand has a painfully tight grip on his arm, and between that and leaning against the doorway of the building he’s been brought to, Lassiter manages not to crumple to the ground. _look around you,_ he thinks. _where are you?_ There are wind chimes and a sign that reads _**gas**_.

Suddenly, a phone starts ringing. It’s not his; Lassiter makes a point of keeping his cell on silent during anything that involves stealth. The answer becomes evident as Garth Longmoore pulls what is clearly a burner phone from his pocket. 

“What do I do?” He asks, panic in his voice. “I-I don’t recognize the number…”

“You should’ve trashed that thing ages ago, you idiot!” Snarls the man holding Lassiter. He reaches out and knocks the phone out of Longmoore’s hand, where it shatters on the ground. The detective feels the grip on his arm loosen slightly, and before he can think, he lunges to the side. With all of the finesse and skill you’d expect from a head detective, he runs approximately six feet away before the sunlight blinds him again and he staggers into the fuel pump. The next few minutes are a blur of struggling and cursing and his blood pounding loud and painful in his ears. Unfortunately, though he fights hard to escape, Carlton is injured, bound, and unarmed, while Longmoore and his friend are fairly large men with everything to lose. He ends up in a back room, duct taped to a chair. 

_I’m not dead yet,_ he thinks. _O’Hara will find me. I know she can solve this._ Recalling how he’d snapped at her the previous night, he winces. _Some partner I was. If I had put a little more effort into actually solving the case, maybe none of this would have happened._ The world is going gray around the edges, and though Lassiter knows that his safety depends on him staying awake, he can’t keep his eyes open. He’s still thinking about Juliet as he succumbs to unconsciousness.

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to me that you all know that everyone in the garage scene was absolutely terrified of Juliet. I mean who can blame them? You're minding your own business when this bloodstained blonde with a badge and a gun storms in and demands to speak to the manager. I almost had one guy in the background outright refer to her as 'scary', but I couldn't fit it in well. I love comments and kudos- thanks for reading!


	5. Sleep Deprivation? I Don't Know Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet is capital-R-Relentless. Gus continues to be supportive. The author throws in some Karen Vick appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I've decided that this will officially be part of a series. I'll elaborate more when I get to the end of this fic (2-3 more chapters, I believe), but I'm definitely gonna write a sequel!

“Nothing on the cell phone,” Juliet pronounces bitterly. “Must’ve been a burner.” She picks up the case file, which she has seen at least fifty times, and begins flipping through it.

McNabb, coming from the break room, hands her one of the fresh donut’s he’s brought in. “Thanks, Carlton,” she says absently. A second later she snaps up. “Shit! Sorry Buzz, I’ve been awake since yesterday, and it’s usually…” she trails off, drooping a bit.

“It’s alright,” Buzz says. “I heard about what happened with Shawn and Detective Lassiter. I’m available if you need any help at all.”

“Thanks, Buzz,” Juliet responds, giving him a smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Buzz leaves, and Juliet goes back and forth from the paper case file to her online resources until the donut is gone and her coffee mug is empty. She stares at nothing, frustration slowly turning to anger. “I absolutely _refuse_ to believe we have hit a dead end on this,” she growls.

Gus takes her in: white knuckles, clenched jaw, shuddering breaths. His normally calm friend looks slightly deranged. He thinks he should do something. “Well, you said they kidnapped Lassiter with a car, right?”

“I didn’t see anything, but he disappeared right at the road. Everything about the scene points to a mobile kidnapping,” Juliet tells him.

“Should we check the traffic cameras, then? See if we can find the car, pull the plates?”

“Traffic cams,” Juliet breathes, lighting up. “Gus, you’re a genius!”

“Well, not technically…” but she’s already off, sweeping through the bullpen as the officers in her way part like the red sea. He hurriedly follows.

///////////////////////////

“Detective!”

“Traffic cams,” Juliet responds without stopping.

“Detective O’Hara!”

She pauses at the sharp tone, turning to face her boss. “Sorry, Chief. Gus mentioned that we should look at the traffic cams, and I think he’s right, we’re almost there, we’ve gotta be close-“

The chief cuts her off. “Mr. Spencer is out of surgery.”

“Really? Since when? Is he awake?” Juliet reaches for her phone, which displays no new messages. 

“Henry doesn’t have your phone number,” Karen reminds her. “And no, he hasn’t woken up. He’s in post-op now.”

Juliet nods, suddenly feeling choked up. She should be relieved, and she is, but at the same time, just because Shawn is out of surgery doesn’t mean he’s going to be fine. Once again, it hits her that she might have seen him for the last time. And what had she done? Brushed him off, ignored him when he was trying to say goodbye? _Don’t go there, O’Hara,_ she tells herself. _Focus on finding Carlton. You can’t help Shawn right now._

“Are they letting people see him yet?” Gus asks from behind her.

“No, I don’t believe so. That will probably happen… if and when they move him to the ICU.”

“So, he’s still in bad shape, then?” Juliet hates seeing the hope drain from Gus’s expression.

“That’s my understanding, yes,” the chief responds. She sounds far away. It occurs to Juliet that even if the chief is just as upset as everyone else, she doesn’t have the luxury of showing it. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” Juliet says quietly.

Chief Vick simply nods. “I can see how hard you’re working, Detective,” she says as Gus and Juliet turn to leave. “I’m confident that you’ll find him.”

Juliet tries for a half-smile as she meets the chief’s eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment, unspoken words and emotions passing between them. Juliet is seeking reassurance, even if she doesn’t know it. Karen looks sad but is, as always, unwavering. Taking a deep breath, the detective heads down the hall.

/////////////////////

“Gus,” Juliet ventures, clicking through various feeds of Santa Barbara traffic cams from three to five that morning, “I would totally understand if you wanted to go back to the hospital, be there when they let you see Shawn.”

“I know,” Gus responds, “and I do. But I figure once we find Lassiter, you’re not gonna need my help. I’ll help you track down the car, and then you can do all the busting down doors and shooting people while I wait for Shawn to wake up.” He smiles.

Juliet firmly ignores the voice in the back of her head in favor of Gus’s smiling calm and confident optimism. “Thanks for the help,” she tells him.

/////////////////////

Going through trivial paperwork on autopilot is nowhere close to enough to distract Karen Vick from the catastrophe tearing through the department. She’s read through three reports of the same mugging on Carrillo Street without even paying attention, too focused on the texts she’s getting from Henry as he updates her. Well, Henry’s updating her every hour. She’s looking at her phone a lot more often than that.

The chief is snapped out of her reverie by a commotion outside her office. O’Hara is near-running through the bullpen, yelling a series of numbers. Karen stands, moving to the doorway to get a better sense of the situation. As she watches, things become clearer. O’Hara has evidently obtained a license plate for the vehicle used in the kidnapping, which she is now running through the system. After a tense minute or two, she finds a result and puts out a BOLO. Satisfied, the detective flops into her desk chair, rolling several feet. It’s at this point the chief steps in. “Detective, I take it your traffic cam idea was successful?”

“Well, it was actually Gus’s idea, but yeah,” replies the younger woman. “The car is registered to a Mr. Rollins. I’ve put out a BOLO and now… we wait.”

“Might I suggest you go home? Get some rest? Maybe change clothes?”

“I was thinking I’d head over to the hospital with Gus…”

“Gus actually got some amount of sleep last night, and he’s not wearing anything bloodstained,” the chief points out.

“Also, I’m on Shawn’s Emergency Contact List,” Gus adds.

“I have a badge for that,” Juliet mutters under her breath.

“What was that, Detective?”

Juliet looks resigned. “I said I’ll go home as long as I’m kept up to date on Shawn’s status” -a pointed look at Gus- “and the search for Rollins’ car.” A less pointed look for Karen herself.

“Of course,” the chief assures her. “Now. Get some rest. I’ll see you when, and not a second before, we have a location on the car.”

“Yes ma’am,” Juliet says.

Deep in thought, Karen stands at the desk a long time, even after O’Hara and Guster leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing what you think! Feel free to leave a comment!


	6. I will Not Die (I'll wait here for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail realizes something. Lassiter's kidnappers underestimate the SBPD. Juliet plays the waiting game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for this chapter: Time of Dying by Three Days Grace. It's outright mentioned in one of the scenes but I think it fits the whole chapter pretty well (hence the chapter title).

Juliet O’Hara will not permit herself to fall to pieces just because she’s stepped under a stream of steamy water. What is this, some cheesy rom-com? No. Instead, she showers like she’s at Cheer Camp with five minutes ‘till dinner and all of her cabinmates are behind her. She’s out of the shower in under six minutes, her hair finally clean again and the blood at least mostly out from under her nails.

The blonde detective considers a small nap, but she’s still tightly strung and she’s not sure she’d be able to sleep if she tried. Truthfully, she’s also afraid that if she did sleep, she might not wake at the ring of her phone. After all, it’s approaching one in the afternoon, and she’s been up since half past six the previous morning. That’s not exactly the kind of thing you can sleep off in twenty minutes. Sighing, she finishes buttoning her shirt and locates her hairbrush. Hopefully this ponytail looks at least a little neater than the one she’d been sporting earlier that morning.

/////////////////////

Abigail Lytar definitely has a crick in her neck. And several other places. She’s staring at the ceiling of the waiting room in Santa Barbara General, as she has been doing for the past seven hours, on and off. Gus joined her a half an hour ago, but one pm isn’t exactly Rush Hour in the ER. Very little has changed.

As the thought passes through her brain, the door bangs open and Detective O’Hara strides through it, holding a cup of coffee and looking put together and, frankly, badass in a way you wouldn’t expect of someone who’s been investigating attempted murder since the wee hours of the night. Abigail can’t help but stare a little in awe.

O’Hara gives her a nod and a small smile before turning quickly to Gus. “Any news?” she asks. They drift into the usual loop of conversation, and Abigail’s thoughts wander. Her head tilts unconsciously as she analyzes the detective. Between O’Hara and Lassiter, O’Hara is certainly the nicer of the two. She’s been nothing but friendly to Abigail since that first night they met at the reunion. So why does Juliet always smile too wide when Abigail enters a room? Why does she suddenly seem a little bit smaller? Why does she talk too fast and seldom make eye contact and stay far away whenever Abigail and Shawn-

_Oh._

Abigail’s processing of this revelation is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from Gus. “What?” she asks. On his other side, Juliet is giving him a similar look of confusion.

“Nothing.” Gus tries to shrug it off. Both of them study him expectantly.

“The song on the radio,” comes a voice from Abigail’s left. Henry Spencer, who has been sulking behind various newspapers since the morning, emerges. “It’s one of those stupid, loud, un-musical ones Shawn likes.”

“Three Days Grace,” Gus says. There’s a long silence and then, “Time of Dying.”

Juliet rolls her eyes. The look she gives the ceiling is almost like she’s daring the universe. Abigail knows what that feels like. Suddenly, the chorus comes on, and Abigail, too, knows the song. _I will not die, I’ll wait here for you, I feel alive when you’re beside me._

To Abigail, it feels like a song of hope.

///////////////////////////

Carlton glowers at the corner of the workshop, where his captors are currently arguing over their next move. Earlier they had moved to the office of the gas station to do so, but after he had almost gotten free whilst unsupervised, the two had taken to keeping a closer eye on their hostage. That was what he was now, apparently. For the past ten minutes, they’d been arguing over whether keeping him alive was smart, necessary, or even helpful. Pros: a hostage would give them a bargaining chip if the police found them. Cons: dragging a concussed detective wherever they went would slow them down and greatly increase the chance that the police would indeed find them. Currently, their indecision was keeping him alive and also preventing them from going forward with their plan (he’d been right about the bank robbing), so that, at least, was good. Now if only he could get out of these damn handcuffs…

His wriggling and attempts to tear the duct tape must have gotten too loud, because the two men across the room turned around. “What do you think you’re doing, eh, skinny?” snaps the tall one. “Going somewhere?”

“It’s _detective_ ,” snarls Lassiter. “I am the _head detective_ of the SBPD so don’t think, do not think for even a _second_ that you are going to get away with this.”

“Oh, shut up. Your friend that my buddy here put a bullet in is dead already. Stubby doesn’t miss. Nobody knows where you are, and by the time they think to come looking, we’ll be gone.”

“Um,” says ‘Stubby’. Apparently, his name is not Garth Longmoore.

“ _what?_ " demands the leader.

“Uh. Well, um, there was another. Another cop. That is to say, well, Mr. ‘head detective’ ah, had a partner with him,” Stubby stammers.

“ _WHAT!?_ ” Roars the taller man. “ _When were you planning on mentioning this?_ ”

“Uh, well, she seemed pretty distracted, I mean, I did shoot her friend, um, she was tiny and blonde, and I didn’t think she would matter?” 

Lassiter snorts. _Rookie mistake._

“You moron.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“You idiot! Do you know what this means?”

“Yeah, but they haven’t found us yet, they might not even know he’s missing! Plus, what difference does it make in the plan, really?”

“The _difference_ is, we still have four hours before that truck is where it needs to be, and _apparently_ we’re gonna need a better hiding spot!”

“ _or_ we could…”

Carlton finds it harder and harder to focus on their bickering. He’s getting dizzy again. At least he’s got something going for him: if these clowns were stupid enough to underestimate O’Hara, they were at least a few bulbs short of a box. If he couldn’t out run them, he’d out think them. Or something. His head hurt a little too much for planning at the moment.

////////////////////////

In lieu of pulling out a gun in the middle of the ER, Juliet is taking apart her phone and putting it back together again. After about five minutes of her doing so, Gus sits up and twists to look at her.

“Juliet,” he says, “If you’re waiting on a call to say that somebody’s found the car, don’t you think you should leave the battery in your cell?”

“Oh,” Juliet responds, not totally hearing him. “Yeah. That sounds smart.” She slides her phone back into her pocket.

“Juliet?” asks Abigail.

“Yeah?”

“Um…” Juliet, mind elsewhere, doesn’t notice the indecision and second-guessing that fills the single syllable. “Uh, isn’t that, like, your third cup of coffee?” Abigail finishes weakly. “I guess it’s true, what they say about cops drinking lots of it, huh?”

Juliet chuckles quietly, even though it’s not that funny. “Well, I normally only have two or three cups in a day, but that changes during high-stakes cases when I can’t afford to spend time replenishing my energy in any of the normal ways. This coffee isn’t even that good, but I’ve been awake for a while, so.”

Abigail’s laugh is filled with nervous energy. “How long have you been awake? If I even wanna know.”

“I don’t know, thirty hours, at this point? I’m running on coffee and adrenaline.”

“Whatever works, I guess,” offers the brunette.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, for the love of-“ Henry’s exclamation, which would quite possibly have ended in an expletive, is cut off by Juliet’s phone ringing.

“O’Hara,” she answers quickly. 

_”Detective, we’ve got a hit on the car used to kidnap Detective Lassiter,”_ says the chief. _”It’s at a gas station maybe two hours away.”_

“Alright,” Juliet responds. “Give me the address, I’ll leave now.”

_“You and what army, Detective?”_

“Well, I’d obviously be followed by a squad car…”

_“Are you wearing a bulletproof vest? Have you planned for entering a building occupied by armed assailants? Do you have a medical team ready should Detective Lassiter be in critical condition?”_

Juliet doesn’t have an answer for that one.

_Come down to the station, Detective, and we’ll plan this out the right way. I know you’re worried about your partner but running off half-cocked won’t help anyone.”_

“Copy that.” As she hangs up the phone, Juliet turns with a small smile to the people sitting beside her. “That’s my cue. Wish me luck.”

A murmured chorus of ‘good luck’ follows her out the door. Later, she’ll be convinced that it actually did help, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the final one in this work! Wow, this will be the first multi-chapter fic I've completed. For those of you worried about Shawn: don't be afraid, I'm already planning a sequel! Leave a comment and let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	7. A Finale, Of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet solves half of her problems. The other half is currently still unconscious in post-op with iffy chances of waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter O.o

The normally empty stretch of Santa Barbara desert near the decrepit gas station was home to a curious sight as the afternoon sun traveled toward the horizon. Down the road from the gas station were several cop cars and quite a few cops. Six tall men stood in a half-circle, all focused intently on the small blonde giving orders. 

“Listen up, everyone,” called Detective Juliet O’Hara. “There are at least two hostiles in there, probably both armed. These guys have already nearly killed an SBPD consultant and, as you know, they’ve kidnapped Detective Lassiter. We’ve got to be ready for a fight, but if we storm in there’s a chance they’ll kill Detective Lassiter before we can get to him. I want all of you on your toes, got me?” 

Noises of assent come from the assembled company. “Alright. I’ll take Dobson and Stone in through the front door, McNabb, I want you to lead Ellis and Knight around back so our perps can’t run. The med team should be here within twenty minutes, so we’d better get started,” Juliet finishes. “Any questions?”

“You said you didn’t want to go in with guns blazing and risk something happening to Lassiter,” says Dobson. “What’s our approach, then? Knock on the door and ask nicely?”

“I feel like our bulletproof vests and loaded weapons don’t exactly lend themselves to _asking nicely,_ ” Juliet retorts. “But there is something in between that and busting down their door. Which brings me to another point: McNabb, you can’t come in until we’re in or they are actively trying to leave, otherwise it’ll ruin the element of surprise.”

“Copy that,” Buzz says.

“Okay, enough stalling. Let’s move!” with that, Juliet sets a fast pace towards the gas station.

///////////////////////

Five minutes later, the detective is picking the lock to the front door of the gas station. Questions about the legality of this from Dobson and Stone had been evaded by banishing them to behind the gas pumps, out of sight. Besides, she had probable cause. It was totally legal. As she feels the tumblers rotate into place, Juliet stows the now-useless bobby pin in her pocket and stands, drawing her pistol and motioning for the officers to join her. Carefully pushing open the door, she moved into the building. 

First there was nothing.

There was a counter with a cash register and empty shelves that might once have been full of junk food but no sign of Lassiter. The cops moved through the doorway behind the counter and found themselves in a small, dark hallway. There was another doorway slightly to their left, and through it, Juliet could see her partner, bleeding from a head wound and cuffed to a chair. Even as she tries to suppress the bolt of fear that shoots through her, he looks up and meets her eyes. He’s smart enough to stay silent lest he tip off his captors, but his eyes fill with hope and he gives her a wry grin. She smiles back and then, with a hand signal to Dobson and Stone, moves into the room.

“SBPD!” She yells, aiming her gun at the man who shot Shawn. He freezes and looks terrified while a tall man she doesn’t recognize reaches for a gun on a table. She points her gun at him instead. “Freeze!” He stops moving.

 _”Didn’t think she would matter,_ huh?” He growls at Longmoore, glaring.

“Told you,” says Lassiter from behind her, sounding smug.

“You’re under arrest for kidnapping, identity theft, attempted robbery, second-degree murder, and attempted first degree murder,” Juliet says, her voice ringing powerfully through the small workshop. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Buzz has entered with his team, and she motions for him to cuff the tall, greasy man. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

“Yes,” the tall man says flatly. His hands are cuffed behind his back. 

“Yes,” says Stubbins or Longmoore or whoever he is.

“Good,” says Juliet, voice dangerously smooth. She paces towards Stubbins, who backs away from her until he’s flush with the wall. Not good enough. She shoves him against it, her hand nearly gripping his throat. Sure, he’s got a good sixty pounds on her, but she’s strong. She could lift him off the ground by his neck if she wanted, which, honestly, she does. Taking a deep breath, Juliet resists the urge to strangle him but leans into his personal space, her mouth near his ear.

“You know, none of the things I just listed are capital offenses,” she growls. “You’ll spend a long life in jail, but you’ll live. Only, you also hurt someone I care about. If he dies, you get a first-degree murder charge instead of attempted murder. And that _is_ a capital offense. I suppose the point I’m trying to make is,” Juliet leans back, her glare boring into his fearful gaze. “If he dies, so do you.” With that she lets go, turning away as he crumples to the ground, gasping. She heads for her partner, grabbing the key to her handcuffs, which will also release his.

“O’Hara,” Carlton says raggedly. “Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

“Sorry it took so long,” she responds as he rolls out his shoulders and rubs at his wrists. “That’s a nasty head wound you’ve got there.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. One of his hands goes to her shoulder to push himself up, but she gently pushes him back into the chair.

“Nuh-uh. Lemme see your eyes,” she says. He frowns but complies, and she stares at him intently for a few seconds before frowning herself. “Yeah, you’re definitely concussed. You’re not going anywhere until the med team gets here.” Lassiter sighs dramatically. “I don’t want to hear it,” she tells him. “I didn’t spend my day running all over the city just to lose you to a metal pole because you can’t walk straight.”

“Fine,” Lassiter grumbles. Seconds pass. “…How’s Spencer?”

“Alive,” Juliet tells him. “He was in post-op last I heard, and they’re still not letting anyone see him.”

“Mmn,” Lassiter says. He gives a heavy sigh and leans back, his eyes closing.

Juliet is standing over him in an instant. “Carlton. You okay? Talk to me.”

“My head hurts,” Lassiter sighs. “I haven’t really been staying awake for more than half an hour. I woke up like forty-five minutes ago…”

This sets off alarms in Juliet’s head. Carlton’s been trapped in a situation that should require constant vigilance from him- if he says he’s been sleeping every half hour, that means he’s found it literally impossible to stay awake. She places a hand on his shoulder to dissuade him from falling asleep. “Don’t do this to me, Carlton. Don’t make me do this twice in one day,” she almost pleads, trying not to let her voice thicken with emotion.

“M’awake,” Lassiter grunts. “When’s the med team getting here?”

“They should be here soon,” she tells him softly.

No sooner have the words left her lips than medics are swarming through the door. Juliet wants to ride with him to the hospital, but once again, she has other responsibilities. She gets in her car and heads for the station.

////////////////////

Karen takes one look at Detective O’Hara and sends her right back out the door. “McNabb can book these two,” she says, motioning to the criminals.

“I have paperwork-“

“Which will still be here after Detective Lassiter gets discharged and Mr. Spencer wakes up.”

“At least let me take some with me-“

“Detective. You have been doing _exemplary_ work all day. Right now, you need to go to the hospital.”

“…yes ma’am.”

///////////////////////

Juliet scans the ER for the umpteenth time since she’d sat down. She’s not sure what she’s looking for- Lassiter, a nurse informing them they can see Shawn, more criminals barging in and shooting up the place. Logically, she knows she’s safe, she’s done her job, she can relax now, but her “detective brain” won’t turn off. She sighs and shifts in her chair. A few seconds later, Gus nudges her. “Should he be walking?”

////////////////////

Lassiter spots his partner a second before she spots him. He sees Guster say something to her and then she looks up, straight at him, relief flooding her face. “Carlton!” She calls. He gives her a half-grin, trying not to sway as he walks across the room. “Are you supposed to be out here?” She questions.

“Eh,” he responds. “Technically, I haven’t left the hospital, per se.”

She smiles at him, more than a little shaky. “I’m glad you’re okay. Or… near okay. I’m glad I didn’t lose you,” she says.

He scoffs. “I was never going to _die_. I knew you’d find me.”

Somehow this is the wrong thing to say, and O’Hara’s face falls. “I didn’t know,” she tells him. “We had no idea where you were or what was happening or if you were even _alive_. She makes a choked noise and the next thing the head detective knows, his partner is hugging him tightly.

Lassiter feels like he should say something, but he’s at a loss for words. “Juliet,” he finally says, his voice quiet.

 _”Carlton,”_ she replies, before bursting into tears.

Carlton Lassiter normally stays away from crying women at all costs, but this is different. Juliet buries herself in his chest, shaking with sobs. The tall detective just holds her and hopes that maybe, if he holds on tight enough, he won’t have to let go.

 

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe this is the first time I've finished a multi-chapter fic? But don't worry, I'm already writing a sequel. You'll get to see Shawn wake up! I figure this fic is the "actions" and the next one will be the "consequences". Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
